Van Helsing 2 :: Shades of Gray
by Sonance
Summary: UPDATED! Ch. 04 added. A sequel to the motion picture, this flick takes place three years after the events leading to the demise of Dracula. Detailed summary inside.
1. Omen

** Title:** Van Helsing 2: Shades of Gray

** Author:** Ayame

** Disclaimer:** The characters of _Van Helsing_ are not my own. They are the creation of… well… of quite a few monster flicks, actually…

** Rating:** R, for future events.

** Summary:** For three years, the nightmares haven't ended. They continue to haunt his sleep with horrific visions of past battles, and past wounds. But now, they have only had new factors added to them. The death of Anna Valerious still on his mind as though it were an event that had taken place only yesterday, Van Helsing continues to do his work, hunting down what the Order has vied as evil. Oddly enough, the newest task that they have sent him on has been one in which he cannot find the evil they seek. As it turns out, the Holy Order knows neither the identity of this new foe, nor the gender, or race. Only that it is arising in a place the Van Helsing had thought to leave far behind: Transylvania. With events that take the friar, Carl, and the demon hunter throughout the country, beginning in the mysterious British Isles, and across the land to the foreboding realms of Transylvania, they find they must race against the clock, for this new evil seems to be on a strictly timed schedule. They meet with several people who seem to have the same goal in mind, destroying this unknown vice, as well as a mutual connection to the deceased Anna Valerious and her brother, Velkan, as they pull closer to their destination. As time passes, they find that even in death the Valerious Family has more to do with the uprising of powerful foe than would have been thought, and that the family line may not have been completely destroyed, as was first surmised. Nor was the evil that was connected to them…

  
  
╔╪Van Helsing 2 :: Shades of Gray╪╗

╓Chapter One╖

┌Omen┐

- Scotland -

The rain pressed into the atmosphere, thick and suffocating, clinging to the nooks and crannies of the world, proving to be as oppressive and disorienting as the fog that accompanied it. There was no lightning to illuminate the dark skies, but the distant rumbling that coursed its way across the heavens only promised the arrival of the chilling element. With the foreboding drone of the falling rain, came an unearthly silence, one that should not have been known to these parts. Even in dreary weather, there should have been the light stirring of outdoor animals seeking sanctuary from the tumult and onslaught of the downpour. That was the first thing that Carl had noticed.

By all accounts, the roadway which stretched ahead was unmistakably void of any passing travelers. Although it was only the early part of the evening, the unprecedented beginnings of a storm had plunged the remaining daylight hours into a premature midnight. It was difficult to see more than twenty paces ahead, and half that behind. He felt unnerved… and quite the fool.

"What am I doing out here? How do I get myself into these situations?" he muttered to himself, urgency and a slight slew of panic causing his voice to rise in pitch. He knew that talking aloud would do little to abstain the surmounting feeling of unease tricking down his nape and along his spine for being about in this unearthly weather, but he couldn't help it. After three years of traveling with Gabriel Van Hesling on his missions to rid the world of evils unseen by ordinary human eyes, one would think he'd be quite used to this type of atmosphere. After all, unnatural dangers had a tendency to lurk in dark places. About ready to mutter a curse under his breath, the friar sighed, before something on the ground caught his eye. Odd…

It should have been near impossible for him to spot whatever gave off that spark in the denseness of the fog that had wrapped itself around the area. But there it was: a soft glinting, reminiscent of the way coins reflect the sunlight through clear pools of water. Not even a single yard from his position, Carl shuffled toward it, squatting to get a better look. Whatever it was, it had disappeared once he had gotten closer to it. No… wait… there it was again. He had found that it was not an inanimate object at all. No… it was… light. Every so often there was a luminosity that seemed to pulse in a streaming line along the edge of the roadway, like a solitary beam with the thickness of a single strand of thread. It glittered and wavered, as though provoked by soft air currents, though Carl could sense no stir in the atmosphere. A crease forming across his brow, he moved his hand over and in front of the thread of light, only to find that it passed directly through the flesh, and continued its pulsing in and out of existence, fading from view every few minutes, and only remaining visible for a second or two. In the rain and the gloom, he had noticed it. But how had it caught his attention in the first place?

The rain soaking into the earth, visibly lightening to something more of a sprinkle, now forgotten, and the thunderous rumblings that had been voicing their sorrow above now quieted, Carl noticed that there was a new sound which had most likely been accompanying the first two. Similar to the pitter of the drizzle to anyone who wasn't as keen on sensing danger as he was, Carl felt the chill that had been working its way down his spine earlier now suddenly become freezing. What he heard beyond the droplets of precipitation was footsteps. No… not just footsteps, but the clicking of claws: something that should have been near impossible to hear on dirt roads that had been dampened by the water. And the smell… What had been an earthly scent of cleansing showers only moments ago was now replaced by the strong odor of… _No… it couldn't be…_ Carl thought as he raised his head from examining the thread of light. Through the fog ahead, he could see neither shapes nor shadows, and looking behind him all was clear. The sound of something approaching, however, was growing louder, and the smell was distinctly sulphurous. A look of concentration drifting over his features, he let his light blue eyes rest on the view in front of him once more. Nothing. Squinting, he directed his gaze over his shoulder, remaining perfectly still, but his scrutiny only showed the same inspection as the one in front: nothing approached. Swallowing, he decided that now was the time that he get a move on, and stop dawdling on the side of a deserted road on a stormy evening.

Squaring his shoulders, he brought his gaze to the ground once more, only to find that the light he had earlier been focusing on was gone. Something else had taken its place: the paws of a dog. Moving his gaze from where his fingertips caressed the earth, he found canine paws covered by long shags of hair only inches to the left. As much as he loathed the idea, he forced his head to move, tilting his scrutiny slowly upward, to take in the front and hind legs, the shaggy black coat, the thick neck, the muzzle, and the eyes, which, contrary to what was seen in most dogs, were swirling circles of ocular flames. The smell was even stronger than before – nauseating – now that the appearance of the calf-sized creature had been made. As it directed its disturbing gaze at the man, it made no sound and it made no move. It was this silence, rather than the rigidity, that made this animal menacing.

"Nice doggy… I… I don't have any biscuits for you… but if you just keep going down the road…I'm sure I saw a cat over there…" Blistering oculars gave the illusion of pulsing flames as the friar cautiously started to rise to his feet, hands held out in a gesture that either meant he was unarmed, he was ready to fight to the death, or that he was about ready to have an incident that involved loosing control of the bladder. As he watched, it simply bared its teeth, releasing a pungent, foul odor, streams of saliva, and a crimson liquid which Carl had no desire to wait around and find out what it could possibly be. Whirling on the balls of his feet, he took off at a run, realizing exactly what the thread of light was now. It was a ley line: a channeled stream of earth energy which sometimes the marked territory of certain supernatural creatures. And the particular creature he now faced… err, ran away from? One of the fearsome black dogs of the British Isles.

The hound had taken pursuit, the clicking of its claws sounding loud against the soft earth as the canine apparition rushed after him. Breathing heavily, knowing the stories of how being touched or touching a black dog would curse a human with death only days afterward, the tawny-haired man didn't bother to glance over his shoulder and pray that he was winning in this race. Instead, he yelled.

"Van Helsing!! Why do I never like my part in your scheeeeemes?!"

As though on cue, the whirling sounds of the Tojo blades cut through the air, seeming to silence the rain, as well as the tapping of the dog's paws in pursuit of Carl. The friar had believed that the absence of those clicking claws meant that the dog had given up the chase. He was wrong when he saw, from the corner of his eye, a long dark snout dripping foam from the mouth and that crimson fluid, appear at his left shoulder. The absence of the tell-tale sound only meant that the mutt had leapt for Carl. With a scream, his arms went up in reaction as his entire body went down, knees buckling; but this was more of a fainting spell than any sort of reflex that was trained into him. As he fell, he saw one of the Tojo blades fly out of the fog and toward him, coming at a velocity that could be rated equal to flying bullets. The blade was meant for the dog, and it met its mark, but it met its mark with no sound. The mongrel did not land on top of or in front of Carl. It had apparently vanished. Breathing heavily, staring into the haze ahead of him, Carl stayed where he was for a few minutes.

The tall man seemed to materialize out of murk, features becoming visible like the unveiling of pieces from a jig-saw puzzle. He emerged, as dark and foreboding as the black dog that had been in pursuit of his sidekick, sauntering forward, one remaining Tojo still at ready, blade whirling with anticipation. Rugged, angular features partially masked by a handkerchief, long, unkempt, dark hair framing his face, topped by a wide-brimmed, black hat, his dark brown eyes darted from one area of interest to the next, quickly and efficiently assessing the situation. The coattail of his long, swarthy trench billowed behind him as though caught up in a burst of wind, though there was none of the sort to cause the action. Ebon boots, fall front trousers, shotgun chaps, butte hunting shirt, and waistcoat adorning the rest of his lean but robust body, making him look quite the lethal figure with the way he stalked forward from the grasping caresses of the surrounding haze; he moved with the purposeful ease of a prowling predator, only making his appearance all the more deadly. His dark eyes roamed the area quickly, in front and behind. But the tyke was gone now, and only Carl remained, getting rather clumsily to his feet, brushing himself off, and then going to stand next to the demon hunter. Breathing heavily, the cenobite started to speak rapidly.

"Van Helsing, we really need to talk about the tasks you have me do! I don't even get paid! The work is hard and dirty, and I always seem to get the part that involves being bait of some sort." As he spoke, he let his gaze drift about the area, following in suit with they eyes of the hunter. Despite the fact that the flea bag had vanished from human vision, the grating sound of its approach could be heard loud and clear.

"Sorry, Carl," Gabriel said casually as the remaining Tojo blade retracted back into the sleeves of his coat. Pulling open his jacket by the lapel, he reached into an inner pocket and removed a rather unique looking double-barreled pistol. Popping two bullets in – one in each barrel – bullets that seemed to pulse with some sort of strange energy, an invention that Carl was quite proud of, he snapped it closed and held it at ready, eyes scanning the horizon. "But I would have thought, as a man of God, you'd have loved doing this type of hands-on work, free of charge."

"But I'm a genius! Not a tasty rack of lamb!" changing the subject none to quickly, Carl continued to be as anxious as Gabriel was calm. "What kept you, anyways?"

"I'm sure to the dog, Carl, you would have been quite tasty." Glancing down at the friar, he patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry, my friend. I was delayed by a banshee." With that he spun around, long coat flying out with the movement, and was met head on by the black dog, which came leaping at them, eyes flaring, no growl of warning issued. Shoving Carl to one side, Van Helsing dodged, rolling slightly off the road, into the muddy grass, and let loose with one shot. A stream of sparks flew into the air, dissipating into the fog almost immediately. It was quite obvious that he had missed. Scrambling to his feet, he spotted the dog only a few feet behind him, whirling around, he aimed his weapon, ready to pull the trigger when the dog disappeared. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Carl shouting.

"Don't let it touch you! Whatever you do! Abate the ley line!" Running back onto the road, Gabriel spun around slowly, the notion of being hunted, rather than doing the hunting was all too familiar to him. He vaguely thought about how he had lost his hat in the first dodge, but that was something he was more than used to.

"Carl, where are you?" he spoke gruffly, wanting more to know the location of his friend, and that he was alright, more than anything else, but the friar didn't answer. Jaw setting into a determined line, he readied the gun just as he spotted the dog out of the peripheral of his vision. It leapt at him, and he dove into a rolling crouch, but when he became oriented, the creature was gone. This was by far one of the more difficult missions that the Order had sent him on. The black dogs of the British Isles had been terrorizing citizens for the better part of a century, and while many still believed them to be nothing more than folklore, they were proving to be a problem, causing those who had the displeasure of encountering them to dies shortly afterward. They were thought to be beasts of Hell, which explained the smell of sulfur that accompanied their appearance, the eyes of fire, and the blood of the victims which dripped from their mouths. They could disappear and reappear in different places at will, and were completely silent save the sound of their nails upon any surface.

Getting to his feet once more, he found the canine waiting for him, just a couple of yards away. Perfect leaping distance. And that's just what it did. With a silent snarl, it cleared the ground and Van Helsing took the opportunity to squeeze off another shot, aiming directly for the leaping dog. But it vanished again, the last bullet released into a haze as a dissipating spark of light. Cursing under his breath, Gabriel removed two more bullets from the inner coat pocked and unlocked the casing of the barrel, so that he might reload, but this action was interrupted by the reappearance of the dog, in the same position as before, continuing the leap that Van Helsing had so obviously failed to interrupt. Clenching his teeth, he let loose an impatient growl as he was forced to fall back into a ducking roll to avoid being pounced on. The action caused him to loose his grip on the remaining bullet that he had left to put in the gun, and the pistol itself, which slid, but not too far, on the mucky roadway. Letting out a sharp exhale, he shifted his position to a crouch where he could easily move from one side to the next without too much difficulty. But, much to his dismay, this only seemed to go in favor to the dog's cause, for now it stood in front of his crouched position, not even three inches from him.

Unarmed and at an apparent stalemate, Gabriel stared the dog down, positioned with one knee and both hands on the ground: a good enough posture for darting to the side, but most likely not good enough when it came to the black tykes of the British Isles. Those ocular flames bored into him as the jaws parting, its squalid breath enveloping Van Helsing's senses momentarily, blood and saliva dripping from its mouth and clinging to the sleeves and gloved hands of the demon hunter, in a thick and nauseating film. It seemed to grin at him, as though in anticipation of gaining another victim on its hit list. He only let his eyes leave the canine for a moment as he looked from side to side, trying to find exactly where the gun had disappeared to. It was to his right, not even half a yard away. The dog started to move closer, as though in a taunting action, but the dark-haired man remained solitary. That was when a ringing shot had sounded through the fog, and a bullet flew in between the three-inch gap between Van Helsing and the monster. The dog flinched visibly, as though it were a real canine, rather than a being of supernatural means. Taking the opportune moment, Gabriel darted to the side, coming just along side the discarded weapon. Letting his body-weight take him to the ground, he snapped the barrel closed, thankful that the bullet had stayed inside, and aimed, but not at the dog as it gained its senses and started toward him. His eyes were on the soft glinting just above the surface of the roadway, behind it. He cracked a smile and pulled the trigger.

Sparks of light seemed to crackle through the matted hair of the dog as it began to back up, a sharp yelping sound filling the air, but not really emanating from the dog. It shook its head from side to side, as though trying to clear its vision, or shake water from its ears. One paw reached up, rubbing at its muzzle as those eyes of flame began to flicker violently and then burst into flaring tendrils of fire. The white glow that had immersed the bullet with which the dog had been shot seemed to spread, much like the flames from its eyes, and cover the body. The creature staggered.

Getting to his feet, his hold on the gun he had never relaxing, not even for a minute despite the fact that it was spent of ammunition, he backed up a few paces as he watched the dog. Carl emerged from the fog, appearing out of breath, as though he ran to find Van Helsing. The friar had his hands over his ears, to block out the yelps and unearthly shrieks that had consumed the atmosphere as completely as the fog had done, looking like a sight in his rumpled brown robes. With a grimace, he stared at the dog as it shook its head more, and coughed silently, liquids of indistinct colors spilling from its mouth. The creature started to convulse, waves of white light pulsing across its body as it staggered from side to side. Gabriel only spent a few minutes more watching before he took his leave, moving off the road, and making sure there was a good deal of space between himself and his foe. "You might want to move back." He said quietly.

Carl had noticed this, but only a little too late, as his fascination with the creatures apparent demise kept his eyes focused on the mutt. The creature only convulsed a few more times before exploding, globs of hair, a milky white substance, and clots of a metallic smelling red liquid, along with tendrils of fire, radiated from the spot where it stood. With a startled shout, Carl stumbled and landed on his back, but could not avoid being pummeled by the excess that was sprayed into the air upon dissipation of the hound. There was a long silence shortly thereafter, and then, as though a cork had been unplugged from the world, sound whooshed back into the atmosphere. The fog rapidly cleared from the area, and the clouds drifted from the sky, showing the world in the early evening hours that it was supposed to be in.

Coughing, and making dismayed sounds as he tried to wipe the goop from his robes, Carl made a comical figure as Van Helsing approached and stopped on the edge of the now clear country road, untouched by any of the aftermath of an exploding mass of unearthly dog. Only bits of mud marred his appearance. Spotting his hat, he leaned over and picked it up. "I love it when they clean up after themselves." He spoke with an amused smile on his lips as he gazed at the ground, and took notice of the first Tojo blade that he had let fly. Moving toward it, he reached down and picked that up as well. Carl could only look down at his robes and frown, following in Gabriel's wake.

"Of course, you would." He muttered as he stared at Van Helsing, holding out the robes of his friar's garments, as though to make a point. Picking at a glob of mucus, he made a face before looking at Gabirel's arm and casually wiping it on him. Arching an eyebrow, the expression on the dark-haired man's face looking as though he were trying not to laugh, took in a short breath.

"Thanks." He said before letting his gaze drift toward the horizon of either side of the road. The sun had yet to set, and everything looked quite peaceful, birds flying through the air, and insects humming low to the ground near the grasses and flowers. Even the roadway where the black dog had once stood was vacant of any sign it had once been there. Carl, it seemed, was the only proof that something abnormal had been vanquished here.

"You're welcome. I thought I might share with you." With a tilt of his head, Van Helsing moved back onto the road and started down it, back in the direction of town. He stopped briefly, eyes drifting to the ground where he had thought he had seen that thin line of light. But, as of now, nothing could be found. With a shake of his head, he started walking again. The sky had cleared revealing the day that had been masked by a metaphysical menace. But even though their foe had been bested, there was something distinctly uneasy about the stir in the atmosphere. Perhaps the legends were true about these black dogs. A bad omen?

"Come on, Carl. Back to Rome."


	2. Constructing Malice

**A/N:** In this chapter, I give mention to the Valerious ancestor, Dracula's father. Only problem, is that I don't know how it's spelled. In the movie, it sounded like 'Valerious d'Elder' so that's how I have it written. If any of you can give insight as to the proper spelling of his name, I'd be more than happy to hear it, so I might correct what I've written.

** Update!: **I'd like to give thanks to Maelstrom for answering my question with the correct spelling of Valerious the Elder. =)

╔╪Van Helsing 2 :: Shades of Gray╪╗

by: Ayame

  


╓Chapter Two╖

┌Constructing Malice┐

- Transylvania -

The castle had been abandoned: not even the livelihood nor the greed of the peasants and common-folk had swayed them to come in and raid the place of its riches and splendor. Obviously, they thought far too highly of the Valerious family to ransack the domicile, even though the prince and princess were not going to be coming home. Either that… or someone or something did a very good job at keeping them away. Surprisingly enough, after three years, there were hardly signs that this palace had not been lived in – not at all like that the ruin the Castle Frankenstein had fallen into only a year after the master had taken leave from the world of the living. But then… the Valerious mansion hadn't been raided by townsmen carrying pitchforks, axes, torches, and battering rams, now had it?

Cobwebs could be seen, dispersed sporadically against walls or hanging from the beams near the ceiling, moving ever so slightly against any minor draft that slipped through the room. But that appeared to be the only signs of a house not lived in. Dust did not ladled the well-polished surfaces of desks, or tables – as one would have thought after years of neglect – lint did not cling to the soft fabrics of the furniture or bedding, and the lamps and torches within were kept well oiled and lit during the evening hours… or at least… that was how they found it when they had arrived in Transylvania only two days ago, and that was what they had discovered upon the hour that they had spent in the castle, looking things over.

Just off the main dining hall she stood, light brown hair falling loosely about her shoulders, eyes of hazel-blue drinking in her surroundings. Her gown was of rich, earthy tones, greens and browns, and clearly that of nobility, and she stood tall, her posture alone marking her status in life. Admiring the artillery that had transformed what she was positive had once been a grand hall of wondrous splendor meant for receiving guests into a miniature fortress, she moved slowly down the corridor of the ground floor, the heels of her boots clicking against the surface of the marble floors. Her anticipation rose as she neared the sitting alcove that housed the map of Europe. Covering the expanse of the wall, an impressive piece of work that seemed to be detailed of the most rare or exotic types of inks and oils, she gazed at it, as though it were something completely fascinating and otherworldly.

"It's beautiful, don't you think? Such a lovely piece of art." Her voice was throaty and purposeful when she spoke, directing her comment to the young lady who was already examining the painted cloth canvas. With a start, the other girl turned around, surprise visible over her features, but only for a moment before placidity took its place. The girl did not speak or even try to answer her question, however. She simply gave a curt nod, locks of her long, honey blonde hair casting dark shadows that marred the alabaster tone of her face, but disappeared against the black of her dress.

"Lady Margot." The deep tenor that rumbled behind her brought her attention from the girl who stood beside the map. He had approached silently, stealth being one of the qualities for which she had employed him. Graced with hard features, and thos distinct unrefined that could only be suited for a man who spends most of his time in the out of doors, Borrachius looked nothing like the warlock that he was supposed to be. Nor did he act as she would have expected one to. He did, however, have dark features, which suited him well when he took to casting spells. With a smile, she turned to face him, the other girl and the map now forgotten.

"Have you found my cousin?" Margot smiled pleasantly at him, but he did not return the smile. It was no secret that he did not care for her or her actions in the least. Those who had a chance to travel with Margot must have simply thought he had alternative motives for being one of her companions. And she was sure that they were correct. Not that it really mattered. Rather than respond to her question, Borrachius turned and walked away, the message that, should she wish to know the whereabouts of her cousin, she'd better follow him, quite obvious. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked toward the blonde, before following in the warlock's wake, the smile never leaving her lips.

The library had been constructed on the second floor of the castle, and was a vast room, housing shelves of assorted books which lined the walls, and made up aisles across the carpeted floor. Beautiful furnishings of oak, mahogany, and cherry wood made up the desks, tables, and chairs set out in front of tall, double-paned windows, next to an ornate, marble-mantled fireplace. The room remained warm despite the rapidly dying fire that had been lit some time ago. Margot had stepped through the doors, followed swiftly by the two that had been downstairs with her. Fendori stood near an area of shelves close to the doorway, absently flipping through the pages of a book he had retrieved. Dressed in long robes of a mahogany color with his chin-length, sandy blond hair pulled into a neat ponytail, features reminiscent of that of an aristocrat – smooth, handsome, and well-defined – he looked quite saintly for his role of being a dark priest. He nodded to the three that had entered the room, raising his eyebrows inquisitively only for a moment before letting his gaze fall back on the pages of his manuscript. He remained stationary as the three gathered into the room, moving close to the fireplace where Margot's cousin rested.

"The ashes of Princess Anna are all that remain." Borrachius spoke brusquely and eyed the cloisonné urn of gold, silver, green, and blue that sat in the center of the mantle. He watched as Margot approached it, her steps seemed to be deliberately slow, as though in anticipation of actually being in the same room. She reached up, and with delicate hands, brushed her fingertips against the smooth enamel surface. It looked as though a landscape had been etched into the design, depicting leaves or emerald, land of gold, skies of silver, and deep sapphires to represent the sea. Margot's expression changed to something that Borrachius would have called thoughtful.

"I see…" was her reply to his statement, but for all intents and purposes, she wasn't really speaking to him. "This urn… whoever had it made for her… they took very deliberate care to make this design… this likeness of the ocean…" Letting her head bow a little, eyes cast toward the embers that were glowing in the fireplace, she let out a sigh, locks of wavy brown hair cascading to covering her features. "So the rumors are true. She met her demise when working with that… Van Helsing character." Venom captured her voice as she spoke the name of the demon hunter. There was a long pause as eyes fell to Margot, either in interest or in patient boredom, as she straightened and moved away from the fireplace. Turning around, the light swish of her gowns the only sound to accompany the soft crackling of fire embers, she clasped her hands in front of her, a coy smile slowly growing across her lips.

"Well, I'm just going to have to do something about this. It simply won't do to let this… murderer go unpunished, now will it?" Slender eyebrows rising, Margot let her hazel gaze fall on each of her companions, as though to have them challenge her words or decisions. They didn't, though it was obvious that Borrachius would have liked to. Fendori simply flipped through the pages of his book, as though he weren't interested at all. It was only the blonde girl, the cleric, who looked her directly in the eyes. Margot looked toward Borrachius and tilted her head toward the fireplace mantle. "Get the urn. We take it with us. I don't see why she should be left alone in this enormous castle. Not when she can find a proper resting spot amongst my family." That smile had returned… the one she was known for: it was chilling and sly. Without saying anything more, she started toward the library doors.

"Lady Margot." It was the blonde who had spoken.

"Yes, Alma?" Alma took a step forward, her expression unreadable as usual. If anything, that was the most unnerving thing about the girl. She smoothed out the front of her simple black dress which was decorated only by the ebony buttons that rose from the hem of the gown, up to the collar of the neck. Eyes of the deepest blue bored into Margot as though erecting a challenge, and for the air of authority that Alma was displaying at this moment, she looked quite young.

"What about the son of Valerious d'Elder?" Her question was straight-forward and implying everything that the others had been wondering, but hadn't said. One look at Fendori showed that he thought her question… or that Margot's answer… was laughable. Borrachius, urn in hand, still had an expression that would have made even a foul mood quiver. Margot only smiled.

"Don't worry, love. I'll get to him very soon. Very soon indeed." She remained calm, confident, a combination, when speaking of Dracula was probably not a very good one. Borrachius decided to add in his thoughts.

"Just because you wield the power to control dead hands does not mean the prince of all darkness can be controlled. Vampires are not the same as dead humans." His dark eyes were hooded, as unreadable as Alma's expressionless face. Margot raised her eyebrows in a smirking manner.

"Well, thank you, Borrachius, for that marvelous assessment. Next time I need a lesson in folklore, I'll be sure to call on you." Turning around, she started though the door, but paused briefly, glancing over her shoulder. "But until that time comes, don't underestimate the power of a necromancer. I will have my vengeance…" there was a short pause. "Against the Van Helsing." Saying nothing more, she slipped from the doorway, disappearing into the hallway. With a sigh of disgust, Borrachius exchanged glances with Alma, and then followed the other woman.

Fendori gave a light chuckle, setting the book back on the shelf, and let his gaze drop to Alma as she started toward the door as well. The cleric didn't seem to share the same joy as him, for as she stopped, she gave him a serious look.

"Do you find this situation amusing, Fendori?" He could hear a slight hint of ridicule in her tone, but more so, antipathy. He shrugged as he studied her, taking in her slender figure and her simple black dress. Her waist length hair was naturally a golden color, but under the lantern light, it took on a chestnut tone. He gave a twisted smile.

"No, of course not, Miss Alma." She didn't look as though she believed him, and she had good reason not to. Fact was, he found their entire situation to be very derisory. But he didn't elaborate. After a few more moments of staring each other down, she took her leave, stepping through the tall library doors and disappearing into the corridor. With a snicker, he started out of the library as well, running his fingers though chin-length sandy colored hair. Events for them were going to be moving a whole lot faster from here on out.


	3. Assignments of Distraction

╔╪Van Helsing 2 :: Shades of Gray╪╗

by: Ayame

  


╓Chapter Three╖

┌Assignments of Distraction┐

The Italian outdoor conservatories more commonly known as the Vatican Gardens that they moved through beneath the warm sunlight were a gracious change to that of when they had first entered Rome and took in the hub-bub of the masses going about their daily and altruistically mundane tasks. The state of Vatican City, home to much of Rome's collection of art and architecture, was an immensely beautiful area, housing gardens, museums, and basilicas of undeniable history. One of the most important states of the known world, the Vatican had powerful influence over other countries, as well as Roman Catholics. As he moved swiftly from one garden to the next, heading toward his destination, which rested atop the Vatican Hill, Van Helsing had figured that that was the solitary reason why the Knights of the Holy Order had chosen to operate here.

"By the way, Carl. I had meant to thank you earlier, before we left Scotland. If you hadn't fired that shot and distracted the dog, I don't think I would have been so lucky as to use that latest invention of yours on it. I hadn't realized you were such a marksman." Stepping into a world that lacked the hustle and bustle of the marketplaces beyond the walls surrounding the City, almost as immediately as they had crossed into the encircling colonnade of the Piazza San Pietro, Carl and Gabriel made their way toward the sanctuary. As they climbed the steps of St. Peter's of Rome, they took in the bearing masonry of the Italian Renaissance structure. By far, the most immense and captivating thing about the cathedral – aside from its complimenting peristyle – was the elaborate dome at the top, and the flying buttresses that added to it.

Nearing the topmost platform which would lead to the entrance of the sanctuary, Van Helsing was surprised at how, no matter how many times he saw it, the Square and Cathedral of St. Peter was always able to take his breath away by the intricate beauty of the establishment. Although the British Isles had some marvelous land sights, he was glad to be away from foreign shores, but not too excited about the next mission that they might be sent on… well, Van Helsing was positive that Carl wasn't too excited. He had found that he had come to rely heavily on Carl's companionship as the years had passed, finding that there were perks to not working alone. For one thing, his clean-up of the vices that plagued the known world had not been as flamboyant as before, and even though there were still wanted posters out for him, the number in which they had come had dwindled. Of course, that could also have been because he was being sent on less and less operations in which the foe he hunted had a human form to go back to upon death and expose to the public. Having Carl to travel with, listening to his entertaining, if not offbeat, sense of humor also kept Gabriel from thinking about the more unpleasant side of his wanderings. Letting his dark eyes fall on the shorter man, he gave a seldom seen grin. When he had first dragged Carl with him on his undertaking to Transylvania three years ago, he had done so because he felt Carl's inventiveness would come in handy. He hadn't expected that the death of Anna would have bound their fate into being good friends, rather than just inventor and hunter, exchanging words on weapons. At the thought of Anna, his grin began to fade, and it vanished completely when Carl spoke.

"But… I didn't shoot at anything…" They had stopped at the top of the stairs, just in front of the entrance of the Cathedral. The sun beat down upon them, relentlessly, and bathed the area in a glow of bistre haze, which gave the vicinity a surrealistic feel. At the base of the steps, common folk went about their business, leaving St. Peter's and moving toward the marketplaces or the housing districts, taking little notice of the friar in rumpled robes, and the demon hunter in his dark garb. Van Helsing was well known throughout the cities of Europe, but if any of those passing through Vatican City recognized him for being the infamous 'murderer' that he was, they gave no signs of it. Now, standing in the sunlight before the a holy church of God, Gabriel Van Helsing raised his head only slightly, removing his wide-brimmed hat from his tousled hair, raised his eyebrows and studied Carl carefully.

"What do you mean?" his voice was evenly measured.

"I don't like guns." The friar said simply. He brought a hand up to his unruly hair and scratched the top of his head, rather annoyed at the fact that he didn't get all of the aftermath from their encounter with the black dog out of his appearance in his quick stop to try and make himself presentable before returning to Rome. He was carrying a pack, which was slung over his shoulder, making his appearance of a traveling friar only more complete. "Guns are too messy, as we witnessed earlier. I'm much better with unstable chemicals." He continued with a grin. Gabriel let his gaze wander away from his friend and drift to the scatter of people who were coming and going in front of the church. That feeling of unease that he had sensed after the demolition of the black dog wasn't just a false alarm, then.

"Well, either way that you look at it, Carl, it was actually your unstable chemicals that made the mess." Though he had cracked a joke, he didn't smile, as his thoughts were elsewhere. "Someone fired a gun, which distracted the dog. And that someone was an excellent marksman… If it wasn't you, who was it?" Feeling a tenseness fall over his shoulders, he rolled them, one at a time before looking toward the doorway of the cathedral. Carl seemed baffled by his question, but had no answers for him. On the deserted road out in the fields of Scotland, the fog had cleared to show that no one had been nearby. There were no obstructions that anyone could have hidden behind. Donning a look of concentration, he entered the quiet Cathedral halls, with Carl following behind him. It was something that he'd have to think on, but not at the moment. He looked to Carl and said, "So, what was it exactly, that I used to kill that dog. I thought they were indestructible." Carl grinned.

"Well, they're said to be, since you can't touch them. But the black dogs of the British Isles actually have different traits, and it is said that they have different weaknesses. But you didn't really kill it…" he frowned for a moment. "Though the messy explosion would beg to differ… Anyways, the bullets in that gun had an effect which would imbalance the ley line that the dog was connected to. That's what the light sparks were when you shot at it. When the ley line was disrupted, the dog had to leave this plane of existence. Uh, that's their connection to this world: the ley line."

Gabriel chuckled. "Yes, Carl, I know." Despite the vast halls, vaulted ceilings, and elaborate space in which the Catholic statues of saintly figures had been placed, their voices did not carry too far, leaving their conversation more or less private. It didn't take long to reach the confessional booths.

"Right. I really didn't see the point of going after a black dog, though. There have been many sightings of them, and not only that, people have said that there are a select few dogs that look extremely different from the others, obviously being leader-like creatures. In Yorkire, there's Barghest. Lancashire is the home of Skriker, but he's more commonly known the Howler. Muckle Black Tyke roams the roads of Scotland, but I don't think that's who we ran into. Mauthe Dog has been seen in the Isle of Man, and in Wales, there's Gwyllgi, the dog of darkness. I did some studying of the subject when the Order assigned you to this task. They're really quite fascinating… Van Helsing?" Carl's voice trailed off from the animated tone that had consumed it as he looked around, only to realize that he stood alone. He had stopped to study a statue of the Virgin Mother, while still talking to Van Helsing, who had apparently disappeared into one of the confessionals. It appeared to onlookers, much to Carl's dismay, that he was speaking and making gestures to the statue, rather than anyone else, since Gabriel had taken the liberty to leave without notification. "…Oh."

╞══╬══╡

"You left me out there talking to myself! I looked like a madman!" moving from the stairway into the work area of the underground catacombs built beneath the city, Carl spotted Van Helsing almost immediately. He was leaning casually against a wall, arms crossed, head bowed, amused smile on his lips as he glanced up.

"I won't tell if you won't." Carl let the bag he was carrying drop from his shoulders and plunk to the ground as Cardinal Jinnette approached, stopping the friar from any retort he might have started to make. With a small grimace, he picked up the bag again, nodded to the demon hunter, and moved into the fray of workers, inventors, smiths, and the like.

The look of regalement that had touched his features had been drawn into something of quiet seriousness, as it always did when facing the Cardinal and what seemed to be his never-ending succession of burdens. _ Burdens…_ Was that how he had come to think of his job? At times, burden was really the perfect word to describe how he felt. He could get pretty tired of being the most wanted man in every capital of Europe, save Rome, or of having people avert their eyes from him when they saw him coming and knew who he was. He had never admitted it to anyone else, but he ached to the look in the eyes of people that he'd encountered. The look that called him a monster, rather than the creature that may have been attacking them. It was true that there were people out there who thought of him as a holy man, doing God's work to rid the world of evil, just as it was true that there were those who thought him to be an executioner.

For the duration of his time of being a hunter of the unholy, he had successfully turned his back on both titles, doing all that he had been decreed to do by the Order, only becoming annoyed when Cardinal Jinnette had to reprimand him for his style of taking out enemies. He had successfully ignored being called a holy man simply because he felt there was nothing holy… nothing ordained by what he did. He had ignored the comments of being a murderer, though that was a bit more difficult since he saw the men and women as they breathed their final breaths as the persons that they had once been. He had effectively overlooked everything said… until the death of a certain young woman three years ago. Now, more often than naught, every fight that he was in, whether it was he who started or finished it, seemed like a burden. Every order he took seemed like a burden. In times when he could spend too much time reflecting on the past… life seemed like a burden.

But, at the same time that his work was a burden, it was a blessing as well. It kept his mind preoccupied, unable to drift to memories that were not pleasant. It kept him from being able to reflect on his encounter with the late Vladislaus Dracula, and his apparent past encounters with the vampire. But he was thinking about it now. How many times before that had he really gone at arms with Dracula? Had it only been once, centuries ago? _Centuries_… How could it possibly have been centuries? When Van Helsing's mind wandered to thoughts like these, the nightmares he had during the midnight hours became near unbearable. So he tried his best not to think about it. Not to think about his mission, three years ago: the mission that indeed proved that he was a murderer. _Anna…_

He had been following the cardinal in light of his thoughts, moving deeper into the underground catacombs that had been kept secret from everyday society so that the Holy Order might do its work in peace and without probing questions. They had come into one of the many work rooms where vicars, priests, clerics, monks, and friars did their work and study under the vigilant and guiding hands of other cardinals such as Jinnette. But when they stopped near a workbench, Gabriel noticed that Cardinal Jinnette was studying him with a worried, if not impassive look.

"Your mind wanders." He stated simply after catching the attention of the younger man. With a gesturing nod, he moved forward a few steps, where a projector had a map of Europe displayed on a white screen. The cardinal continued to speak as he stared at the map. "There has been a change in you, my son. Subtle, but it is there, and it has been there ever since Transylvania." Gabriel said nothing as Jinnette lowered his gaze to the floor and shook his head, but this was only an instant of an action before he looked up at the map again. The cardinal had a fatherly affection for Van Helsing, as he had been the one who had lent that guiding hand which brought Gabriel's mind back to the world of the sane, shortly after loosing his memories years ago. Not long after that, Van Helsing was employed to do work of God by riding the world of evil threats. While many did not see Jinnette's affability for his ward straight away, they could usually hear it in his tone, when he took the time to scold the hunter for certain faults, much the way a father scolds his son. The cardinal began to speak again, but not of missions.

"Sometimes I wonder if it was a good idea to send you to Transylvania. There were others I… we could have sent, yes. But I chose you, because you are the best. You have a mindset that no other hunter before you has had: you have that ability to sense what is evil and what is not. Though you sometimes have that indifferent temper…" a wistful smile touched his lips. "I don't know the details of what happened in Transylvania. I'm not sure that I want to. I don't know what went on in those lands… what your encounters with the Count Dracula led your thinking… your faith to go… I know that loosing those that you had been assigned to protect and help, Prince Velkan and his sister, Princess Anna, was not easy on you. You hadn't been given a task similar to that one previously in your work." He gave a short sigh before continuing, his voice dropping an octave or two, to something above a whisper.

"I could tell you, like I have so often in the past, that this is all just a test of faith." He glanced up at Van Helsing, his dark eyes meeting the hunter's. "But I'm not going to. I once knew a young man. He was under the care of Cardinal Davide. He was a monster hunter, like you; willful and headstrong. Often stubborn and had the most irritating way of making messes out of his assignments. Giuseppe was his name. But he had a good heart, and he did his work to the best of his abilities. He had a sister – Bianca. While fending off some monsters… werewolves, she got tossed into the fray, and was killed. The werewolves were stopped, yes, but not before the casualty. After her death, he continued to do his work, but it wasn't the same as it had been before. He started becoming reckless, as though eager to join her in death. He eventually did." The cardinal rested his hands upon the image projector, letting the cool feeling of the metal sate the memories, as well as his thoughts. He looked at Van Helsing.

"I'm not saying that you want to join the Valerious Family in the death that they have met. You're actions have not been to that point of recklessness. You're work speaks well of you. But something happened in Transylvania, and it is plaguing your mind and perhaps your heart. I only wish for you to be careful, take a more heedful path. Find out the real reason behind a mind that wanders."

Van Helsing watched the cardinal with growing interest, but his face did little to betray his thoughts. He felt that there was something else to be leaned here, that what Jinnette has said was more than just a worried caution. The monster hunter wondered if the cardinal was in fact telling the truth about how much he knew of the dealings in Transylvania, but he didn't ask, and the wonder was only fleeting. Rather than answer him with a response to all that he had said, Gabriel directed his gaze to the projection of the European map and gave a curt nod.

"What's my next assignment?"

Jinnette watched him for a moment, as though trying to read his thoughts, but it was of no avail. Letting his gaze drift toward the map projection, he sighed. "There is an unspoken evil that has been rooted in the heart of Transylvania. We've sent some hunters out to investigate, but all signs of abnormal activity have waned in and out of existence and no signs of the supernatural have been found. Just the occasional were-creature, and of course, the vampires: though sightings of both of these have dwindled since your visit. We've traced patterns of the activity and have found that it has started to arise within the lands of the British Isles. That's the reason why you were sent there earlier: to confirm the mount of an unearthly atmosphere upon the land. I trust you will be able to determine whether or not you should start your investigation there." It was a statement, rather than a question. As he spoke, the maps shown on the projection were different areas, first of Transylvania where the source of this strange but haunting spiritual nexus was thought to arise, but was not found, then to areas in the British Isles. "We'll need you to report back to us every-so-often with reports on what you find. If need be, you'll start in the Isles, and make your way back to Transylvania."

╞══╬══╡

True to his words of worry, Cardinal Jinnette had sent Van Helsing on what he referred to as a 'fetch me a chicken' quest. Only once or twice before, in all his time of working with the Order, had he been sent on a fool errand such as this. But he hadn't argued. They had not given him a neither a name, nor a creature to go after. Hell, they hadn't even told him where to go. The British Isles, though by comparison not equal to the whole of Europe, was still a vast area, three different countries, in which he was supposed to 'look for information.' He hated it when he was given such bland jobs to do. But, this was Jinnette's way of giving him 'time off,' though time from hunting monsters and demons, and flushing them out of the world of the living should never be a factor. He was basically going to catch a chicken. And clear his mind in the process of whatever lingering effects Transylvania had had on him. He wondered how long it would be before he was given a real assignment as he headed through the catacombs, nodding to some of the members of the clergy, heading toward Carl's laboratory.

He could hear the voice of the blond man as he stepped around a bend that led into a work area teeming with workers and busy-bodies. They didn't even look up at him as he moved through the dispersing conflux of monks, friars, and clerics. He spotted Carl easily amongst the workers, talking animatedly to a much younger man, presumably in his teens with fair skin and thin black hair, sitting atop his head much the same way a bowl might sit atop someone's head. Both looked up upon Gabriel's arrival.

"Going on a vacation, then, are you?" Carl said, his words punctuated by the arch of his eyebrows. The inventor, still in his plain brown robes of linen, accented only by a corded belt at the waist and a similar, but smaller cord at the collar, moved from one side of one of the many work tables to the next, putting different items on the wooden surfaces in what appeared to be a specific arrangement. His hair, seeming to be permanently combed into that wispy razored look – perhaps fashionable and stunning for a member of the clergy – but by no means a statement of debonair finesse, was disorderly as ever, blond wisps sticking out here and there. The thin, wiry man, by no part looking the latter, as he often proved to be, beckoned toward the youth that followed him around as he continued to arrange. Van Helsing nodded toward the boy who was with Carl before looking over the friar's latest contraptions, his footsteps echoing across the stone floor as he picked up a bag and began to load it with miscellaneous items, some random, and others he had used before. Carl followed him.

"Not likely. They say its investigative work, the easy stuff that I'm not meant to do. I have the feeling, though, that whatever they don't want me to know, I'll find out anyways, and when I do, I'll need all the help I can get." He paused at a tear-drop shaped container, the size of a rather large orange, that was sitting on a pedestal, apparently filled with some sort of amber liquid. There was what appeared to be a bangle secured across the widest part of the strange looking storage device, with small nodes and wires protruding from each. The wires, by no means flexible, stretched in a smooth arch to the tapered tip of the tear-drop shaped contraption, connecting to a small metal clip. Quite intriguing, it was. Gabriel nodded toward it. "What's this do?"

"Ah! That's one of my latest inventions. Actually been working on it since we got back from Transylvania. It's liquid fire!" Carl seemed quite pleased with himself.

"Liquid fire?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow, the beginnings of a grin coming to him. "Isn't that a little…oxymoronic?" Carl shrugged for a moment, but tensed as the tall, dark-haired man picked up the glass, tossed it into the air, and caught it deftly. "So does that set things on fire, or does it get things wet?" Gabriel had a notion that whatever was in that little container acted very much like one of the explosives that Carl had first shown him when they had first met. A single drop made quite a big bang, from what he recalled.

"Well… yes, but… no one ever said that an inventor had to make sense." The inventor shrugged. "It's supposed to set things on fire with a lovely, but searing explosion of heat. Though, it works best on a wet surface... which is also oxymoronic, when you think about it. You can do all kinds of things. Start a bon-fire, roast some marshmallows… not to mention a few limbs…" Carl reached for his dangerous invention, but Van Helsing held it up, out of the way, feigning times where he would drop it, but neatly catch it again. He had quite a bit of fun, nearly giving Carl a heart-attack when it came to these types of inventions. At leisure, he relinquished the item to the friar.

"Are you trying to kill me, or is this just your idea of fun."

"Well, I'm trying to kill you, Carl, but I have to skillfully hide that fact." He stated matter-of-factly with a small smile as he continued to grab some items. Looking over his shoulder, he found that Carl was also making up a bag of gadgets and items, as was the boy, who had yet to speak. Carl looked up.

"Oh, I almost forgot introductions. Van Helsing, Albert, Albert, this is Van Helsing." The boy nodded, and judging by his gray robes, he looked to be an apprentice of some sort. Carl's next words confirmed just that. "Albert is an apprentice monk, friar to be, you know. The interesting stuff. The Order has decided that I can take him on as my student." Gabriel gave a mock pained expression and cringed.

"I don't know what the Order was thinking, letting you get a hold of this poor boy to corrupt."

Carl's retort was a wry look and a dismissing sentence. "Well, hope you have fun on your vacation." Gabriel chuckled.

"I will. You're coming with me." Carl started to protest, but Gabriel knew that, be it investigative work or action-packed hunting, Carl would have gone with him anyways. Hence the packing and assorting of items into bags and satchels. "If I'm going to go somewhere and be bored out of my mind searching for something that doesn't exist just so that I can report back to the Order and tell them I found nothing, I'm sure not going to be bored alone." With a wry smile, Carl made a comment.

"You're too kind. Any idea where we're going?" _That was easy_. Van Helsing thought. It was getting easier and easier to have Carl tag along as his side-kick.

"Definitely. We're going where all the paranormal action is: The Scottish Highlands."


	4. Winds Foreboding

** A/N: **Just a quick note for my readers: in the following chapter, I refer to a sea ship and her crew that is used by the Holy Order, as well as a small secluded town in the Scottish Highlands. Neither of these, nor the people I include (the captain of the ship) are real. I made them up strictly for the purposes of the next chapter and those to follow. What can I say? I'm too lazy to find a real secluded town that existed in the 1800's in Scotland, or the name of the ship that was seen for about two seconds on the film. =) Hee, hee. Welp! Enjoy!

╔╪Van Helsing 2 :: Shades of Gray╪╗

by: Ayame

  


╓Chapter Four╖

┌Winds Foreboding┐

The wind had picked up from a light breeze and turned into a shady gust, casting the cool air over the starboard side of the vessel. Gabriel stood on the quarter deck, gloved hands resting on the dark oak rail. He watched the patterns being traced into the murky ocean currents by the rudder, as the sea craft passed through, and dissipate against the waves. The evening was cool, as was to be expected on an ocean voyage: cool and calming. While the sounds of the surf washed over him, behind he could detect the reverberation of human existence, be it organic or inanimate. The soft creaking of the ships wheel as it tilted softly from one side to the next reminded him that he was currently the only member of the vessel on the quarter deck. On the main deck, sailors could be heard tending to the shrouds as well as the sails of the main and fore masts. The resounding groan as the main sail's boom and gaff, as they were prompted into an angle to allow the sail to best catch the wind, did little to compete with the echoing ocean waves and the hum of speech. Above the ocean currents and the creaking of the ship, the voices, shouts, and whispers of the crew rose and fell: the captain gave his orders and the sailors complied, argued, or conversed. But beyond that, the singular voice that stood out to him belonged to none other than his consort. Carl's animated tone rose above the others as he was in his raconteur mode, no doubt entertaining his new apprentice, Albert - as well as any listening sailors - with his heroic exploits. Gabriel couldn't help but smile as he cast his gaze in the direction of the main deck.

The tawny haired inventor spoke as he gestured with his arms, attention on him like that of a story-teller weaving fables of mystery and intrigue to appease the interested spirits of his viewers. Wearing his simple brown robes, which marked his status as a friar, the thin, wiry man made prodigious, but very precise, hand movements as he told his tale and wound his way around the hatch on the deck – a very lively sight, indeed. Locks of unruly blond hair falling in disarray from the rest of his stylish cut, the young man held up a lantern, balancing himself against the sway of the ship that rocked with the ocean waves. His blue eyes lit up as he reenacted past events for the high time of the watchers and listeners. "And so, thinking that I was with Amelia, I continued down the corridor, a little worried at the heavy breathing and heavy footfalls she was producing: but not too much, not too much." He shook his head at the 'not too much' as thought to emphasize that he had been perfectly calm. Then he grinned. "When she growled, I thought about writing it off as a bad cold, but when I turned around to ask if she was alright, I was face to face with none other than a werewolf. _Amelia_ actually stood a few yards behind it, white as a sheet, shaking her head frantically."

"What did you do, Brother Carl?" Albert spoke up in earnest. While both the monster hunter and the friar were young and robust – Gabriel being a far better candidate with the latter than Carl – the young brother-in-training now under Carl's wing was able to best them both with it came to juvenescence. He had a face that was quite youthful with smooth, fair skin. His hair was cleanly cut short to the nape of the neck, but still managed to sport a small cowlick which refused to go away no matter the brushing. Oddly enough, the hairstyle fit nicely for the apprentice friar and it, along with his looks, made his age apparent. He was probably the youngest person aboard this ship, thus his inquisitiveness and curiousness was refreshing. He certainly had the boyish enthusiasm down. Straight ebony hair falling like fine wisps of silk across his forehead, his dark brown eyes focused on Carl who currently held the attention of many mariners as well – those sitting with Albert as well as those who were still busy with their chores. With a small smile, glad to be traveling with Carl and Van Helsing, he tucked either hand in the opposite sleeve of his gray robes. Carl grinned and continued.

"Well, we had left the ballroom, you see, on our way to see Van Helsing who had been busy somewhere in the manor, probably starting up trouble. Van Helsing is good at that, as you all know. And I constantly have to get him out of those jams." Carl paused as snickers and small chuckles dispersed lightly across the crowd before continuing. "Amelia had found information concerning her father's disappearance. So, when I saw the werewolf, being the calm, patient person I am, I simply said that, although I was quite flattered for the attention, my dance card was full and I didn't think I'd be returning to the ballroom anytime soon."

Although the humor was partially lost on Albert, the crew members careened into grand bouts of laughter. It was no secret that Carl often shied away from the face of danger and, even though it might have been very likely that his words to the werewolf were true, he by no means had been calm, cool, and confident about it. And the crew knew it. As some of them continued on with their work, hoisting and releasing the sails, moving past Carl to get through the hatch and check on securing any goods in the hold, other members of the crew who had no immediate tasks to go through, stayed leaning against barrels, the masts, or the railing, listening, or waving off Carl's brave antics with a dismissive gesture.

The crew of the _A.S. Finder_ manned a ship that was used specifically for the Knights of the Holy Order. The brotherhood of Order, the hunters and hallowed meant to do God's work by physical means, had access to the sea craft when travel by land would not get them efficiently to their destinations. Disguised as a merchant ship, _Lady Finder _– as the vessel was often called by captain and deck hands – took on voyages which were hardly ever questioned via a suspicious nature; the men aboard were always able to transport various items that a trade ship would be expected to present upon docking at any harbor. The crew was a worthy sort, being part of _Lady Finder's _expeditions for the past few decades. Changes in the fleet were seldom discussed, much less endorsed, so those who were currently aboard knew a great deal about Van Helsing and his exploits, as well as Carl, and many others who had been asked and scheduled to sail in the name of the Order.

As the churchman stood on the main deck, defending his honor and his pride from the sailors who knew him too well to let him even pretend to be cool and calculated, Van Helsing let his gaze drift out over the darkened sea once again, that small smile fading from his lips as he did so. He watched the waves fight against the chill wind, which had started to pick up, and the demanding push of the ship's rudder. As it had so many times before, his mind began to wander. There was something hypnotizing about the rock of the ocean vessel and the sway of the waves against the atmospheric currents. It made his thoughts tread to events of the past, as well as the future. They were heading for the British Isles – should actually be close to the foreign shores – and now that he was nearing them, he began to think about what he could possibly find there with the non-existing information he had. Although he was given orders to gather the details and send them in, he really had to wonder just what they expected him to find… or not find, for that matter. It had been their way of giving him a break, but Gabriel couldn't help feeling that he was going to stumble upon something. That sixth sense of his wouldn't let his mind be sated. Perhaps it was the ocean air that graced the early morning's black skies, but whatever the feeling was, he couldn't seem to shake it. Ever since he had set foot on British soil due to the Order's first request just over only a month ago, the sensation had settled into his bones, and he wasn't sure what would jar it out.

"The Lady of the Sea is agreein' with us this morning. Nice and smooth. We'll make it to Scotland well before noon." The voice of _A.S. Finder_'s master drifted to Van Helsing's ears as the big burly man approached the rail and stood next to the hunter. Gabriel didn't start or even turn to look at the man as he drew near. Commodore Matthew Baldwin was a man in his mid-forties, with salt and pepper hair, and a green and black greatcoat so defined in its design and origin that he was recognized more by that, then anything else. He had been the commander of _Lady Finder_ for over twenty years, working for the Order during all of its years of tasks, missions, and adventures. Now, he stood next to Van Helsing, taller than his passenger despite hunching over the railing in a relaxed posture. His forearms were slung casually over the banister, as he gazed over the surface of the sea, gloved hands clasping unceremoniously as he did so. The captain turned his dark brown eyes to Van Helsing and smiled pleasantly and spoke again, as though a question had been asked.

"Yes… we'll make good time." Looking over his shoulder at Carl, then back to Van Helsing, Captain Baldwin clapped the monster hunter on the shoulders before letting out a bellowing laugh. "But, once you get to shore, try not to make such a ruckus that we aren't invited back! We're merchants, after all. Good are needed, and we need to keep our reputation clean." With that, he straightened and left at the beckoning call of his first mate, to go about preparations for the rest of the day. Left in silence, Gabriel let out a long sigh, and continued observing the ocean. It didn't look all that agreeable to him, but then, he wasn't a sailor. He was only a passenger.

"Van Helsing!" Carl's voice quipped up beside him, in almost the same spot that Commodore Baldwin's had been in. "The chefs have just finished the preparations with the meals for the morning. Come on." He tugged at the sleeve of Gabriel's coat, like that of a beckoning child waiting for the parent to come along. Although the cooking was done in a small area beneath the forecastle deck, and even though it should have been enough hot meals to serve a crew of forty, plus a few passengers here and there, any signs via aroma that a meal was being cooked was washed away by the ocean currents and scents. Carl started away from the forecastle, heading toward the main deck, where some of the crew members were gathering, and those whom he had been telling his tale had yet to even leave. Albert was easily spotted in the fray of bodies, and Carl waved him over. Van Helsing stood on the forecastle for just a bit longer, eyes narrowing as he directed his gaze to the sea. Baldwin had said it was agreeable, and perhaps it was. But there was that something about the atmosphere, Gabriel could sense, that wasn't quite right. Looking back toward the main deck, he headed in that direction, unable to stop puzzling, if not silently, over the mood of foreboding that rose in the pre-dawn sky.

╞══╪══╡

It was a lazy evening, the sun riding low in the sky, on the verge of setting, hanging just above the treetops. The ride through Lochaber, from the coast, and on into the northern part of Inverness-shire had taken the better part of the afternoon. When _Lady Finder_ had docked well before the sun had reached it apex, the idea of traveling inward to the mainland had seemed like it would have been a breeze, but procuring the correct amount of horses for Van Helsing, Carl, and Albert had been a difficult task, and they had to travel to a few different cities in order to get what they sought. After having that settled, they had traveled the distance without too many stops, only proving the journey to be a long and difficult one: long, difficult, and exhausting. The small Scottish village rested a few hundred miles from the busy city of Inverness, which was named after its shire. Quite, secluded, and out of the way of many of the main roads, the town was north of Loch Mullardoch, and far to the east of the Locharron area. The welcome sign skirting the village beckoned travelers to enjoy their stay at Innis Ceannai, which gave the impression that there were, from time to time, visitors, but it didn't seem likely that many would have stumbled upon this place. As it were, for the six nights and days that Albert, Carl, and Van Helsing had ridden, it seemed only by sheer luck that they had come across the hamlet. Now, in the early evening hours, few denizens walked the dirt roads that led from one small area of their village to the next, and few came and went from the little pub, and to their homes, or vice-versa. Innis Ceannai was definitely not a place to boast tourist attractions. The buildings were small and squat, made mostly of rickety, unstable looking wood structures, the streets were unpaved, and there seemed to only be a handful of homes and buildings. But despite the ill construction of the buildings and the living area, the place seemed to be peaceable, and the inhabitants were very cheerful.

In the stables, located just inside the village area, Albert tended to the horses, speaking softly to them as he groomed them. Unlike many other livery stables, where the horses were cared for by stable-masters and stable-boys for a set price, this one was self serve. The riders could let their horses stay here for the time being, as long as they cared for them themselves. When they had tethered up their equine charges, Albert had offered to stay behind and make sure they were taken care of while Carl and Van Helsing sought out lodging. Now, in his apprentice robes of light and dark grays, he went about his business with a fluid hand, as though he were very used to the work of tending horses, rather than the work that one would learn at monasteries.  
"What do you think of these two, eh?" He spoke quietly as he brushed out the mane of the mare that was his own horse. He glanced back at the other two horses – Carl's a gelding, and Van Helsing's another mare – all three of the Irish Draught breed. His mare was a chocolate brown color, with a white diamond on the forehead, and white markings on each leg, just up to the knees. Carl's horse was a solid brown color, with no distinguishing marks, just a shade or two lighter than Albert's. Van Helsing's mare was completely gray, almost black. Albert smiled at his mare, which he called Buttercup. He wasn't referring to the other two horses when he spoke to his own, however. He referred to Van Helsing and Carl.

He wasn't exactly sure what he thought of the two of them. So, he supposed that the opinion of his horse might tell him something. She only nickered and started to chew on the sleeve of his robes preventing him from brushing her any more. With a chuckle, he pulled his arm back, but her insistent chewing wouldn't allow for him to move back very far. Patting her on the head with his free hand, he gave a sigh. He knew he liked Carl well enough, and was glad that the Holy Order had given him the chance to learn from the inventor. Carl was quite jovial, and when he had the chance, he was very talkative, which really lent a bright feel to the otherwise drab and serious portions of the missions that Albert knew his pedagogue often went on. From what Albert could see, Carl was the perfect example of what a monastery would want its apprentices and students to imitate: good-willed, often trying to see the brighter side of things, humorous, a little mischievous, but not in any horrible way the could never be forgiven, and most of all, good-spirited and very kindhearted. Studying beneath Carl's tutelage would be something Albert would definitely not come to regret, he was sure. That was what he thought of the friar.

As for Van Helsing… he was an intriguing character. As Albert was leaving the years of childhood and moving into that of teen where he now rested, he had always heard stories and had been fascinated by Van Helsing. He was especially fascinated by the wanted posters that had come with the monster hunter. While his suspicions that Van Helsing worked for the underbelly of the Roman Catholic Church had been confirmed upon meeting the hunters just three weeks ago, it had done little to alter or influence his thoughts on the man. Truth be told, Van Helsing represented the rebel that every little boy wanted to be, the hero that they strove to be, and the mysterious and nefarious madcap adventurer that they would never admit to admiring. Albert found it an honor to be Carl's apprentice, as well as working with the demon hunter in the name of the Holy Order.

Buttercup had resigned nibbling on Albert's sleeve and had taken to slobbering in his dark hair. With a grimace, the young apprentice moved away from the mare, dismayed to have his hair sticking up from the saliva. He patted it back down, rather disgusted by the idea that there was horse drivel on his head, but his thoughts were diffused rather quickly by the shuffling of feet and the light sounds that he recognized as crying. A frown touching his features, he set down the grooming brush and moved outside of the stables. He found no one nearby, but his ears were still accompanied by the sounds of soft crying. Deciding to inspect the outside of the building, Albert left the stables and the nickering horses and moved around the northeastern end, where the road that led out of Innis Ceannai was located. Walking slowly down the path, he spotted a girl, no more than four years old, maybe five. Strawberry-blonde curls bobbed about her round face as she stopped walking and turned a slow circle, rubbing her eyes. The tears that slid down her cheeks didn't halt as she did, though. When she moved her hands from her eyes, she spotted Albert, looked rather startled, but didn't budge. He did, walking slowly, ignoring the dust being kicked up and clinging to the hem of his robes. Stopping about three feet from her, so as not to alarm her, he hunkered down and gave a reassuring smile, his dark brown eyes assessing her bright green ones.

"Are you lost?" he asked gently. He was pretty sure that her answer would prove the positive. She nodded and began to speak in a small, teary voice, one hand reaching up to rub her eyes again.

"I cand catch up wif my mommy and papa. Dey wen to da markee wif da big wagun an… buh I tink dey fowgaw me." Albert studied her for a moment as she struggled to piece together a viable and understandable sentence. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder he studied the lay of the land and the small town that rested upon it. When he, Van Helsing, and Carl had come to Innish Ceannai, he noted that there didn't seem to be an influx of good that could be purchased at the small village marketplace. So, doing some quick calculations, he figured that perhaps this young girl's parents were responsible for traveling the distance to bring goods back. Why they'd forget their daughter, though, was beyond him. She was in a commoner's little dress that fell past her knees, and on her feet were well worn slippers, that told tales of being used to walking- probably with her parents on the merchant journey. With big green eyes, reddish-blonde curls that bounced every time her head bobbed, and a spray of freckles across her button nose and round cheeks, she looked like a little doll, albeit, a sad little doll. Getting to his feet, he smiled reassuringly.

"You said they went down this road?" He pointed, as though the pathway away from the hamlet wasn't obvious. The plains of the highlands stretched on for a while, only showing a slight scatter of trees beginning to form into a thicket and a dense wildwood off along the horizon. The little girl nodded. "Well, why don't we see if we can catch up to them? I'm sure they thought you were with them, and once they realize they've left you behind, they'll head back this way. Why, I'll even bet they're on their way right now. Shall we go meet them on the road?" The child's teary-eyes expression broke into a happy grin. Holding out his hand, the tiny girl took it and the two started down the roadway: the friar's apprentice and the lost child. "By the way, young one, what is your name?"

"Brighid." quipped the young voice.

"Well, hello, Brighid. My name is Albert." he said with a smile.

The lazy evening sun had dipped just below the horizon by the time Albert and Brighid had reached the expanse of trees that rested along the highway. The sky had darkened from soft blue into an angry scarlet that hastened into a dark plum. Albert had yet to see any signs of the girl's parents, and though the child had been cheerful, only speaking sporadically during their walk, which was a relief from the tears he had witnessed earlier, he didn't see that there was any chance of finding them before the sky became black. Looking over his shoulder, back toward the tiny town of Innis Ceannai, which looked as nothing more than a minute shadow with the flickering of firelight torches against the twilight haze, Albert began to feel a sense of apprehension drift over him. What would he do if he could not find the girl's parents? Surely he couldn't take her along with him on the quests that Carl and Van Helsing were to go on. That would be completely unheard of. Not to mention, it would be rather dangerous. He was about to speak when a soft rustling crept from the trees to his left, catching his attention, and that of Brighid.

With a squeaking gasp, the little girl stopped, her cheerful disposition gone, and grabbed a handful of the robes that Albert wore, letting her gaze drift into the darkened weald. A crease forming across his brow, Albert tried to make out any figure in the opaque tenebrosity that had settled over the trees. Giving a light squeeze to the child's shoulder, he whispered, "Brighid, we should head back to the village and see if your parents are there looking for you now." He felt a slight nod, and with a smile, looked down at the little girl. But it was that motion that ended up being his downfall.

The instant his eyes left the forest grove, a sharp snapping of branches and rush of footsteps resounded from the timberland. Brighid screamed and jumped back as Albert instinctively moved in front of the little girl. Out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to face whatever beast it was that now rushed at them, he saw her fall hard as she tripped. But she was pliant, getting to her feet almost instantly, eyes wide, as she looked past Albert and toward the trees. The young apprentice didn't get a single look at what was doing the attacking as he was grabbed roughly, arms locked to his sides, and back to the person or creature, then knocked to the ground – only a blur of motion, and the impression of a man-sized figure. Brighid screamed again and started toward him, but stopped, obviously at a loss of what she should do… either that, or she was frozen by fear. Getting to his feet, he shouted for her to run several times, but when he was grabbed again by a binding force, he realized then that the little girl had nothing to be worried about. It wasn't her that they were after, oh no. It was him. _But why…?_ the thought pulsed through his mind as he felt himself be pulled off the road and quickly into the lingering trees.

The view of the Highland fields broke into jagged images, as well as the scene of Brighid running back toward the village, as the branches of the trees around him obscured his vision. Swallowing hard, he kicked and fought, but his battle skills were limited, and his captor had ways of silencing and disabling his ineffective attempts. He felt a cool, damp cloth move roughly across his nose and mouth, a strange odor overtaking his senses strong enough to cause him to cough, rather violently. Breathing became more difficult, and his vision more skewed, though no longer by the fault of the trees and their protruding branches. The young apprentice struggled as best he could, but fighting was not his forte, and against the constant movement of this foe, not to mention overpowering strength, he found he could do little. By what he could tell, he was pulled further into the trees, as the roadway was no longer clear, and he couldn't see Brighid anymore, or hear her: just the sound of rushing in his ears. He only prayed that she'd made it into safety's arms. Still, as his energy drained, he struggled, but much to his dismay and to his memory, the struggle only ended in a quiet dark.


End file.
